Make Believe
by Doubleplusgoodduckspeaker
Summary: A story about love at second sight. Kiddyshipping: Mokuba Kaiba x Rebecca Hawkins.


A/N: Written for Round Three of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Kiddyshipping: MokubaxRebecca. The chronology in this piece is gonna jump around quite a bit; from both characters in 'present day,' where they are young adults, and then pre-canon, where they are young children.

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><p>"<em>A drop of water contained a whole teeming universe, containing in turn, <em>

_water drops and new universes within."_

_-Leibniz_

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><p>"We're waiting."<p>

The room was sparsely furnished; each of the men wore identical dark suits and solid-color ties, stark like targets running down each chest. And in the center of the conference table was the document. The cause of all this trouble. Eleven signatures were scrawled at the bottom of the page, with one empty line where his would join them. As Vice-President of Kaiba Corporation, he had to.

Mokuba knew the terms of the document by memory. The economy had been kinder to KC than most, but the construction of the electronics and dueling components had become too much for them to finance together. They couldn't beat China's prices. His signature would close their raw materials plant and put countless people out of work. He felt his palms start to sweat. The decision had been made. So why was it so difficult to pick up the pen and join his signature to the others?

"I need a minute." He turned and left the room, just trying to get any distance between them.

"Mokuba!"

He couldn't look at his brother. Seto was ruthless, everyone knew that, and he had groomed Mokuba as his successor in every way. This was the last test, and he wanted nothing but to succeed—still he searched for an alcove, a door to duck into and recover his senses. The hallways of the office tower twisted and turned; every door he saw was closed.

He finally reached the restroom, throwing the door open and quickly crossing the room to the row of sinks, pulling up the sleeves of his own suit jacket. He studied his reflection—the dark circles under his eyes, the odd lock of hair that wouldn't join the others and curled rebelliously away from his face. He turned the tap, getting the water to the temperature he wanted it.

He could almost see pieces of himself swirling around the sink and disappearing under the drain, plunging deep down and out of sight. Ripples of his past marred with his own features; he stared at the water, searching for epiphany.

He waited for the basin to fill with water. Looking down into the shimmering, hopeful reflection—those days seemed so lost to him now—Mokuba leaned forwards, holding his hair out of the way, and dipped his face into the cool water.

.

** Make-Believe**

**.**

_A story about love at second sight_

_._

It didn't feel like home.

Then again, he didn't really know what home felt like; the orphanage was more like a waiting station along the road to home. He couldn't remember much before that, and Seto was never one for reminiscing.

_You should be grateful_, he was told multiple times. _Adopted by the CEO of Kaiba Corporation. Plenty of food to eat, your own bedroom, and the potential for a better life. You should want for nothing_.

He only ever wanted one thing.

"Seto, can we play now? Or you could tell me how the story ends, the one where the boy finds the dragon egg?"

"I'm busy, Mokuba." He could barely see his brother over the mountain of books stacked high across his desk.

Okay, maybe two things.

The same routine had been playing itself out over the months. From dawn until dusk Seto shuffled from his bed to the study, forced to endure a parade of lectures and numbers and words. He read until his eyes strained from the effort and his back ached from his position hunched-over the desk. He watched as the brother he knew started to fade away into a husk that would not smile, not even for him.

He watched as the parade passed him by without a second glance. Gozaburo's efforts were entirely directed to Seto. The bare minimum was enough for him.

So he'd play with his shadow, with the toys, with anything that could become something else entirely in his mind. He'd line up ducks and boats on the edge of his bathtub and have grand adventures. All the stories he told ended triumphantly.

One such day Mokuba wandered outside with a few toys in his arms, to find someplace new to play. He pulled a few handfuls of grasses and wove the strands together, making chain necklaces and leaf hats for each toy. There was a large fountain in this corner of the backyard, and once they had sufficient water protection he set each afloat. He clicked with his tongue, mimicking the sounds of a horse as he guided the stuffed animal across the tiled rim of the fountain, skimming the surface of the water with his fingers.

He had to rescue the boats, but they were drifting farther into the middle of the fountain. The hand holding the horse dove upwards, transforming into a winged dragon that breathed imaginary fire. Unfortunately, the fire only served to move the boats further away from him, one boat bobbing around a particular spray of the fountain. He would rescue that one first.

He reached out his other hand, body already half over the railing itself, and his fingers just brushed against the plastic toy. Frustrated, he stretched out his arms even further, the tips of his fingers curling around the edge of the boat—

Only to pitch forwards, falling face-first into the fountain. The water was cold and he instinctively closed his eyes, sinking down, down, down, sure that his feet would have touched the bottom by then. Clutching the stuffed animal to his chest, he batted the water with his free hand, rising up, a sudden fear gripping him that he couldn't swim very well and maybe he wasn't in the fountain at all. At last, he burst above the surface of the water, his hair sticking to the side of his face and his mouth greedily sucking in air.

He had washed up on the banks of a river, and as he scrambled for shore the air wicked away most of the water that still clung to his skin. He found himself a path and started to explore. What else could one do when they found themselves in a world of their own imagination?

So he walked until the coast turned to forest and the forest turned into meadow and then he happened across a girl, not much taller than he was, using a hardy stalk of grass as a pencil to scratch something in the dirt.

"Hey!" Mokuba waved, friendly and genuinely surprised to find someone else there.

"Hey yourself." The girl continued to scratch strings of numbers and letters into the dirt. "This is my meadow. You can go get your own."

"Okay. What are you doing?" Mokuba sat on the ground, eyeing the scratches upside-down.

"Calculus," she answered, the stick tracing a squiggle in the dirt, neatly lining up a new sequence of numbers underneath the previous one.

"What's that?"

She made a noise half-between a lip-trill and a derisive snort. "Math. Typical. I imagine a world where I can finally be on my own and who shows up but a _stupid_ boy."

"Well, I thought this was my world but I would never put a bossy, know-it-all _girl_ there." He resisted the urge to scratch out her precious calculus with his foot. "Besides, I'll bet my brother's smarter than you, anyways."

"I don't see him here, so you can't prove anything." Scratch, scratch went the pencil, forming a new row of calculations.

"I don't think he could come here," Mokuba began, slowly piecing together the words. "He doesn't believe in… this, like I do."

"Now _that's_ silly," she said. "Magic is just another kind of science. I'm going to prove all kinds of things."

Mokuba reached out his hand towards one of the zeros in her equation; two dots for the eyes and a wide curving mouth turned it into a smile. Soon, the sound of giggling echoed across the meadow.

.

There were many days after the first, where they escaped to a world of their own imagination. In puddles of water or even the glass he had with his snack in the afternoons, he saw reflections of that river and the island beyond it. He saw himself there, and then he was there.

"Much better than anything the cook makes for us ." They were having a picnic on a grassy bluff that overlooked the river below. She had introduced herself as Rebecca, and for a girl, he supposed that she wasn't all that bad.

"Oh, don't tell me you're one of _those_ people." She looked at him coolly, appraisingly, across the blanket of grasses and wildflowers. "People who don't work for what they've got disgust me. We've had a lot of problems in our lives, but we've never had a servant problem."

She didn't know him. _Stupid_ girl. "They don't give me the chance. I can do it—so I'm not as smart as my brother. That doesn't mean that there's nothing I can do. I'm sure I can create something for myself."

Her smile was mysterious, like she thought something a private joke. "You can."

Later they would spend hours writing calculations in the dusty ground, numbers and symbols scrawled in neat, even lines. Mokuba drew a few lines, turning them into an animal with wings and scales. He thought of his brother, proud and cold, soaring high above them all. All he ever wanted was his brother back the way he was before. Before Seto seemed to grow up overnight, in books and lessons and so very, very alone.

If growing up was measured in sacrifice his brother was old beyond his years. Mokuba didn't want to grow up; he just wanted to be helpful. To not be cast aside.

.

"Seto!"

Mokuba turned, a wide smile on his face. Gozaburo had forbid them from seeing each other, but he knew that nothing would come between them. Seto held a finger to his lips; he didn't want them to give Gozaburo any other reasons to make life even harsher for them.

"Why do you have the window open? You'll catch a cold." Seto moved quickly across the room to the bank of open windows. It was raining; the drops of water struck the panes of glass and collected on the windowsills below. Mokuba had stuck his head outside the window, the tips of his hair dotted with water.

"I was looking at the rain," he said. Reflections of himself peered back up at him from the drops on the windowsill, eyes bright. He watched as Seto closed one window. Even with the motion, his button-down shirt stayed pristine, with not a wrinkle marring the starched fabric. "Hey Seto… what do you see when you look at the rain?"

"I see wet. Now let's get this closed." He and Mokuba closed the window together, the top pane sliding smoothly into the wooden casement.

"…Nothing else? Just water?" Mokuba tried to ask the question calmly, as if they were talking about anything—he was sort-of afraid of it, that he saw something different. At the orphanage, different was bad. Different was never perfect.

"That's all it is. Water," Seto said, getting a towel from the en-suite to dry Mokuba's hair. "Why, what do you see when you look at it?" Seto's mouth tilted up just slightly then; his indication that he thought this was something of a game. They had made games out of less before.

"Everything."

It wasn't until that moment that Mokuba realized how much it meant to him.

.

Weeks became months and months became years and Mokuba found himself straining to remember; he caught bits and pieces of it in the puddles after a rain or in the trickling of the fountains outside, but once he forgot how to return to such a world, he forgot about that side of himself entirely. It takes more than memory to give something strength and shape and form, it takes belief. Believing in something makes it real.

Mokuba lifted his head from the basin, beads of water dripping down his hair and making circles in the pool of water that rippled out until they lapped gently against the sides of the sink. Growing up, he felt that he lost much more than he gained—what he wouldn't give to be carefree again, not confronted with decisions like this with effects that would ripple outwards and touch so many others. Would he sign the papers, or wouldn't he?

He was responsible for those people; people he hardly knew or people that he didn't know at all. Many of the people Kaiba Corporation employed had families and were working to provide for them. He wasn't about to let any more families be torn apart by work or money or any troubles if he could help it.

He quickly dried his face with a paper towel and returned to the conference room. He hadn't been gone long, but Seto was already on his feet, calming the other board members or glaring them into submission if they dared speak a word against his brother.

"Mokuba." Seto moved over to him as the rest of the group murmured to each other. Mokuba felt his cheeks start to burn hot with the attention. Leaving the room was easy; coming back was much more difficult. "What is going on?"

Better just get it out. "I can't sign the papers. I'm sorry, Seto, but I can't."

His eyes narrowed; Seto angled his body between Mokuba and the rest of the room, providing at least the illusion of a private conversation. "Any reason why you had to feel this way now, and not at any other stage in this development?"

"I—I just can't," Mokuba said, shrugging his shoulders. There was a time and a place for everything, and their time would come later. "But, Seto… I have another idea."

"Let's hear it."

Seto moved backwards, letting Mokuba take the floor. He clasped his hands behind his back; his own presentation tip for when he wanted to fidget, a compulsion he could never quite rid himself of. "So, we can't match or beat China's prices on base goods, right?"

"Right," one of the board members said, neatly stacking a few papers and sliding them effortlessly into a black leather folio. "We already know that. That's why we're here."

"Then let's buy them from China. And convert the factories we were going to shut down into re-modeling those goods." Mokuba looked out to the table where men far older than him looked back, attentions focused entirely upon him. He saw one nod, another jabbing at his tablet computer. Mokuba didn't know if he had ever felt so strong. "There's still a few steps from raw goods to finished product that we own and nobody can beat. We save some money, and everyone still keeps their jobs."

"Let's look into it," another man suggested, looking across the room at each person in turn.

"Quickly," Seto said, nearly interrupting him. "We can't afford to hemorrhage money like this." He turned to Mokuba, and said a little more softly, "but we will look into it."

Mokuba let a smile come at that, growing larger when Seto briskly swept up the documents from the center of the table. The group's business, for now, was adjourned.

He would wonder a little bit later at whether he had done the right thing, of whether it was better to lead with one's head or with their heart. He supposed he would grow up and face the world at a moment of his own choosing.

.

Mokuba supposed he wasn't being banished; it was a fun assignment, even if it did mean he had to travel away from the main offices in Domino. He drew the shortest straw of all the board members and would travel to the western offices in San Francisco to oversee their newest developments. The rest of the board did seem happy to see him off; it seemed sometimes that they were from two separate worlds, looking at everything through a rippling, distorted lens when together, their work would be harmonious and clear.

His plane touched down at SFO; it had been a relatively smooth flight and landing. He marveled at the way the city appeared through his window, spreading out under the clouds, teeming with lights and life. His breath clouded the glass, and he pulled his head away.

The days passed pleasantly; the work was exciting and the people friendly. He lost himself in the never-ending whirl of bright lights and the rush of cars down twisting streets, and on a day that he had scheduled entirely for himself he asked the cab-driver to take him to a park—a park that would have more locals than tourists.

"Whatever you want," the driver said, adjusting the mirror and pulling away from the hotel. It meant a bigger fare for him. "No Alamo Square for you, then—you've already seen the painted ladies?"

Mokuba stretched out in the backseat of the taxi, loving the idea that this could be a more grown-up adventure for him—he couldn't create something like this in his imagination even if he'd tried. Impulsively, and shooting a cheeky smile to the cabbie who was watching him through the rearview mirror, he said, "I prefer my ladies unpainted."

They both laughed at that. "I'll take you to Lake Merced," he said, cutting through a wide swath of traffic. "That will be perfect for you."

They left the fringes of downtown behind, moving into a more residential area and driving past a large golf course before arriving at the park itself. Mokuba paid and tipped the cab driver, getting out to look at the park. Everything just felt different here, even though they were still within the city. This was what he loved—looking beneath the surface to get at what was truly there. It was beautiful.

He set out, walking past several wooden picnic tables and metal grills. There was a playground, and he nearly set out for the swings, only then noticing just how small they seemed and just how big he had become. It wasn't a good match—and nearly every swing was taken, children furiously pumping their legs to soar higher and higher.

He had dressed for a day of activity—no suits and ties for him today—so he set off jogging down the main path, admiring the scenery. Here, there were trees worth climbing.

It didn't take long for him to circle the lake, weaving around couples jogging alongside their dogs and parents pushing strollers. His hair was sticking to the back of his neck; he really should have remembered to bring something to pull it back with.

He had nearly gotten back to the front of the park, a wide grassy area that sloped down gently to the banks of the lake below. It was flanked by two worn wooden piers, the scene of several fishermen that looked as much a permanent fixture of the park as the piers themselves.

He followed the path down closer to the water's edge and then left it, stepping onto the grass and looking for a nice spot to rest. He stopped when two geese darted out from under one pier and into the sunlight, nosing right towards Mokuba, unaware that he was invading on an already-taken patch of grass.

They quacked at each other, nosing their bills closer to Mokuba, who was now convinced that he was their target—the unsuspecting human that fell into their trap. They picked the wrong person; he didn't have any food to give them, and the stands that sold pellets were on the piers themselves.

"Easy now," he said, backing away from them. His feet twisted around something; the grass, maybe the laces of his shoes, and another undignified squawk let him know that another had wandered into their midst. Mokuba turned in the air, his arms flung out for balance, trying very hard not to step on the third goose, to see a woman on a bike coming up right behind him.

She shouted something at him, but Mokuba was already falling. She swerved, just missing him, only to veer sharply again to avoid the cluster of ducks and geese that had wandered away from the shade of the pier to see what the noise was all about. The wheels of the bike left the path, skimmed over the grass and pebbles, and the woman pitched forward, landing with a loud splash and a few stray feathers in the waters of Lake Merced.

.

"Where have you been?" Rebecca said, turning suddenly in the meadow to find Mokuba there, scratching at the back of his head with one hand.

"I was kidnapped," he answered, a little unnerved at how sharply she looked at him. "It… happens a lot. Don't worry."

"I wasn't worried." The edge that was always there was back, certain and haughty. She turned her nose up a little, reaching back down and pulling up long stalks of grass with her fists. "They can keep you, for all I care," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

So Mokuba pulled up handfuls of grass because that's what she was doing, content just to be there, with the wind whistling across the field. It called to the grasses and they waved back, adding to the music as they threaded against each other.

"You said that your brother has advanced schooling?" Rebecca asked, after a few minutes had passed.

Mokuba nodded. It was the first time she had actually asked about him. "Yeah. He has special tutors. He has an awful lot of books to read, too…" He'd never seen Seto's room without them; great tall stacks of books with indecipherable titles.

Rebecca sat on the ground in the middle of the field, leaning down as if she were a part of the grasses themselves. With her hair, she could blend right in if she wanted to. "If you had the choice, to get special schooling… would you take it?"

"Yeah, of course!" Mokuba laughed until he realized that special lessons might not mean that he would get to spend more time with Seto. More carefully, he sat down across from her, his legs folded underneath him so his knees just barely brushed against hers. "I don't know," he said more seriously, looking her in the eye. "I think I'd want to. Maybe I'd be happy if I didn't, but I'd always wonder."

He ducked his head a little too, to match Rebecca's height. This way, they were hidden from the world. "My grandfather suggested it the other day. I can learn at my pace, and not have normal school to slow me down. Stuff that you learn in high-school, I can learn right now. He won't tell me what he thinks I should do, though... what should I do?"

"You should do it," Mokuba said, smiling at her. Was normal school really that bad? "And then you can share what you learn with me."

"Of course I will!" She said, leaning forward a little more so their foreheads were nearly touching. She grinned back at him.

.

Rebecca lived with her grandfather in the home that he had grown up in, tucked away at the end of a long, winding road, with painted shutters and a wide backyard. With no neighbors, Rebecca made friends with every character she read, and spent hours poring through their collection of books. And in the summers when it was too hot outside, she would run barefoot through the backyard, scrambling down to jump into the cool, still lake that wove into the edge of their property. Her grandfather Arthur Hawkins kept a close watch on her but mostly she looked out for herself.

One day she thundered down the old staircase, fidgeting in the jumper that she was wearing, to find that Arthur had a guest. They were drinking coffee in the living room, and her grandfather waved her over. "This is Rebecca, my granddaughter. Rebecca, this is Professor Abacus, a colleague of mine who teaches at Stanford."

"Do you teach math?" she asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear. Her pigtails were always coming undone. "That would be remarkable."

The professor studied her through black-rimmed glasses. "That's a very large word, remarkable. Arthur here says that you're very bright for your age."

Rebecca frowned. "Remarkable is not a big word. Patronizing, now _that's_ a big word—"

"Rebecca, would you mind playing outside for a while? We were in the middle of a discussion." Arthur looked apologetically at his friend, who waited until Rebecca had left to laugh. "You can see she's a handful. Racing around the other kids in school, and her attitude doesn't help matters. I looked into Stanford's gifted youth programs, but what I think she needs is a more personal hand to guide her in her studies."

"Let me talk to her again," he said, pushing his glasses up where they had begun to slip down his nose. "She is a very remarkable child, that's for sure." He laughed and raised the cup of coffee to his lips.

.

Rebecca was running across the field, her arms swinging. "Tag!" she shrieked, reaching out and slapping Mokuba on the arm. He had tricked her into a head start, but she had managed to catch up. They each stopped at the edge of the field to catch their breaths, looking out to where land met water. She smiled; beating him was always satisfying. "You cheated."

"There aren't any rules! How could I cheat when there aren't any rules? Anyways, you still won." He didn't sound sore about it at all.

"Yeah." She looked down, pointed her feet. "I think my legs are getting longer."

It was an admission that they had been wondering about for some time. There was a connection between them, a connection that they could see and grow but could not quite define. They didn't know if it had a breaking point.

"You're taking lessons, you're getting taller," Mokuba said, picking up a stray pebble and trying to skip it through the water. In mock-horror, he announced, "you're growing up!"

"No I'm not," she said, searching for another stone to toss into the water. They made waves along the surface of the river, moving over and under other ripples in the water. She was learning all about waves. "I'm going to choose when I grow up."

"How are you going to do that?" He threw another one and it skipped—just once, but it still counted.

"Simple," she said, clapping her hands at the sight of the pebble bouncing across the water. Circles rippled outwards, distorting the reflection when she looked at it, but it was still wonderful to see. "I'll tell you."

.

"I'm sorry!" Mokuba cried, running through the flock of bewildered waterfowl and helping the woman out of the water. She was spitting out lakewater, her long hair plastered across her face and her clothes already soaking up moisture. "I am _so_ sorry. I didn't mean to—are you alright?"

She reached back down for the bicycle. "I'm fine. But I have a few pillows at home that need stuffing, if those birds try to come over here again."

"I am sorry," Mokuba said, trying to help but not wanting to make anything worse.

"And I'm Rebecca. Nice to meet you." She pulled her damp hair away from her face, wringing out any water that still clung to the strands.

"…My name is Mokuba," he said slowly, confusedly, noticing the way she sharply looked at him. He looked at her familiar eyes, and freckles, and wanted to go dunk his head in the lake if only to hide the embarrassed flush creeping across his face. _Stupid_!

"Rebecca Hawkins?"

"Mokuba Kaiba?"

She laughed; not as shrilly as he remembered it but still loud. "What are you doing here?"

They started back along the path, Rebecca walking beside the bicycle to keep it upright, Mokuba walking beside Rebecca. "I'm in San Francisco for two weeks, overseeing the Kaiba Corporation division here. You… you live around here?"

"About an hour away. Once a month I work a booth at the farmer's market here in the city. I thought I'd get a little exercise in today—my place is pretty isolated." She looked sideways at him, an adventurous smile on his face. "Would you like to go see it? Your American tour would not be complete without a visit to _rancho_ Hawkins."

He had the entire day to himself, and this day was turning into quite the adventure. The path wound back to the entrance to the Park. He stopped, his hands finding a place in his pockets. "We… we wouldn't be biking there, right?"

.

They caught up as Rebecca drove, the highway winding sluggishly through hills sparsely covered with vegetation. Bright green was for gardens and freshly watered lawns; the hills were a palette of muted greens and browns. She turned off the highway and headed down several other roads, turning into one marked with gateposts of rough-hewn logs. The road separated two fields where plants grew in neat rows furrowed into the earth, continuing upwards as they drove. "It's a winery?" Mokuba asked, looking out the window as they drove.

"You remember after our house was destroyed by DOMA? We moved back to the old family house, but we still had this land. So I made something of it." A house stood at the top of the hill, plastered in a sunny shade of stucco, set off by dark wood around the windows and door. "We have a few horses, and the fields aren't really that large, but it's manageable, and I love it."

She made her own parking space in front of the house. "...we?" Mokuba asked, sliding out of the passenger seat. He hadn't even thought to check her hand, he'd been too busy pushing her into the lake—

"Oh! It's still in my grandfather's name, even though only I live here. He, well... you remember him, always so engrossed in the past. He'd forget where his glasses were even if they were right on his face," Rebecca said, and looked away. Mokuba decided that he'd better not pry, and followed her into the house.

A large fireplace stood at the far end of the hall, the only part not covered by windows that let in the view from the top of the hill. "Remarkable," Mokuba said, his eyes taking in the view and the house—the inside was sparsely decorated, but he supposed it was enough.

"The best part is the basement." Rebecca lead him down a flight of stairs and past an age-worn door. "I give tours of the property sometimes, and everyone always says the wine cellar is their favorite."

One wall was white plaster where the rest were stone. Niches were built into the walls, arcing upwards in semi-circles into which bottles were stacked several times deep. He supposed it was like a reliquary or a crypt, the bottles resting patiently as the world continued around them.

"There's a secret staircase on the other side of the room," Rebecca said, her voice sounding softer in the enchanted space. "_Much_ more fun than a regular passageway, don't you think?" Mokuba imagined her explaining that feature to the building contractors and couldn't help but smile. They went back upstairs, the hidden staircase leading them through a large pantry into the kitchen.

"Are you hungry? I sure am." Rebecca went over to the refrigerator and pulled down some papers that were held underneath a small round magnet. She'd been saving those coupons for a special occasion. "I can't cook, so how about pizza?"

The pizza was delicious, and they ate it sitting from the stools lining the kitchen counter. Every time Mokuba took a bite, his foot kicked at the footrest of the stool, swiveling the chair back and forth.

"So, do you manage this place full-time?" he asked between mouthfuls.

"I have for the past year. I wrote my dissertation mostly here... now there's not much else to do but teach and research, and I don't really want to teach."

"Who knows? I think you might be good at it." Mokuba reached for another slice.

"Yeah... I've got some other things that need my attention first, before I start thinking about the future. I'd better stick to the past," Rebecca said, kicking her feet in the air underneath the stool. "I'm actually pretty glad I ran into you, Mokuba... you'll be one of the last to see this place."

In that instant Mokuba knew why the house was so barren. "Are you moving?"

"I've had a few prospective buyers come around, but there's not much interest in a little place like this. I should probably sell it, but I'd still like to come back someday." She smiled wistfully, pushing the crusts of her pizza around with a finger. "In the Spring I'll be moving back in with my grandfather. I won't have time to look after him and this place, and it is much better for him to be in a familiar place like his own home. All of his memories are of that place."

She had always been looking forwards her entire life, racing to grow up as quickly as she could. For Arthur Hawkins, growing older was stepping into a world that was foreign and unnatural. The body was one thing, but the mind was another, and all Rebecca wanted was to have things as they were, for him to remember her as her. It broke her heart.

In the distance, they heard the rumble of a thunderstorm. It wasn't raining yet, but Rebecca glanced nervously out the window, looking for signs of the impending storm. It had been hot for the past several days and rain was always welcome. They heard the thunder again.

"I'd better go check on Copernicus," Rebecca said. She swiveled away from the counter, nodding for Mokuba to come with her. "He hates thunderstorms."

They left the house and ran to the stables, Rebecca leading the way. They ducked inside and headed for the only filled stall out of the four that made up the stable, where a horse with a brown coat with a white star on its forehead was nickering softly. "Hey, you," Rebecca said, rubbing the horse's muzzle when he nosed over to the edge of the stall. Mokuba hovered nearby, not willing to try his luck with any other animals. He preferred the animals whose pictures were featured on the glossy cards that he dueled with. Rebecca continued to whisper soothingly to the horse.

Outside it started to rain. It fell in large drops that covered the ground and splashed from the rooftop. They dripped down the windows, reaching out to each other before being swept away.

Rebecca joined him near the windows. "More rain than thunder... that's a good thing."

He had been studying the way she talked to the horse. Here she was, in a world of her own design, in a place that she loved. "What's a good thing is that I came along," he said, impulsively, nudging her arm with his elbow as if it was a well-practiced motion. "Because you are looking a bit too sad to me."

He took her hand and led her outside. The rain was lighter now, making music in the drops against the gutters, whistling inside the downspouts. It sang against their skin as Mokuba twirled her around, acting silly just to get her to laugh. To laugh was to celebrate this place, and in each raindrop they could see glimpses of themselves, sparkling moments of laughter and of love. Rain clung to their hair and their skin and joined together at their clasped hands.

They remembered.

_"W-What are you doing?" Mokuba asked. Rebecca had been acting strangely lately, and it had put him on edge whenever she was around. _

_"Growing up," she said, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek._

Every meeting, every moment, each game, race, and lesson came rushing back to them just as each raindrop fell against their skin. Locked memories that, in a long-awaited moment of youth, had been restored to them.

She looked up at him and at first didn't know what to say, but the look in his eyes was so tender that she didn't need to say a thing. "It's always been you," he whispered, and then he kissed her, just like that.

He wiped the moisture from her cheeks and kissed her again. They danced under the rain until it stopped and then they continued on, smiling and happy.

He held her and they laughed and laughed and laughed.

.

"Hey Seto, I just want you to know that I think the project here in America might need my attention for a little longer." Mokuba said, holding the sleek cell phone against one ear.

"How much time do you need?"

"Oh, only about six months."

"Six months!" Seto hardly ever shouted because he never had to, but all the same Mokuba winced, keeping the phone a safe distance away from his ear.

"I'll check in from time to time. My normal responsibilities will still get done, don't worry," he said cheerfully, a wide smile on his face. He had found himself smiling more and more as the days had passed.

"I'm not worried—"

"Great! Talk to you later." He rang off, leaving, for the first time, a very speechless brother in his office back in Domino. Seto slumped in his desk chair, looking at the phone in his hands as if it was something foreign to him.

"...Did he just hang up on me?"

.

Weeks became months and months became years and Mokuba savored every moment. They weathered their own storms and danced through many more rains, never forgetting a thing. And each year like clockwork, they all bundled into the car and set off for an adventure.

"Are we there yet?"

"Yes!" Rebecca was driving. She took their designated parking space and they all hopped out of the car, first a young girl that was holding a worn teddy bear, and then a slightly younger boy, who was very fond of the uncle that he took after. Mokuba himself came last, reaching into his wallet to retrieve four glossy laminated cards.

"Don't lose these," he said, handing one to each of them. "Remember, they get us in for free."

"Because you created this place?" the boy asked.

"Of course he created it, silly!" his sister said, the card held tight in one hand. "It's called _Kaiba Land_ after all."

The boy reached up and Mokuba took his son's hand, and together they walked towards the park. All those years ago, Mokuba had gone to the American branch of Kaiba Corporation to oversee the final developments for the newest Kaiba Land amusement park. All those years later, he had never left.

"I want to ride the dragon coaster!"

"We'll have time to get to every ride."

They passed under the blinking lights that proudly displayed their name and continued their next great adventure.

* * *

><p><strong>The End.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Dedicated to My Misguided Fairytale. Happy Birthday! Remember, growing up is the biggest adventure of all :)<em>

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

This story had a host of inspirations, and I feel it is only appropriate to name them here: Peter Pan/Finding Neverland, _Lucky Seven_ by Sunshine Biscuits (what I wouldn't give to read that story again), The Fountain, and the very personal realization that when everyone expects you to grow up and 'be an adult', is when you most want to be young again.

Rebecca had a horse in the DOMA arc, which inspired all of rancho Hawkins. According to yu-jyo, that horse was named Copernicus :)

The boardroom scenes (their problem and the subsequent resolution) is inspired by a true story.

This universe also includes _Moving Back_, where Rebecca goes back to live with her grandfather after he has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Since I wrote that before this story, Mokuba isn't in it at all, but its still a lovely story.

I've been on this site for a decade (I've quite literally grown up with it), and have read this pairing countless times, and have developed a certain sensitivity to all of the tropes of this pairing. For once, I wanted to write a story in which Mokuba is not portrayed as the smooth operator/flirt/etc and Rebecca is not always rebuffing his advances. I joined the Season 8.5 contest because I had the chance to write this pairing. So _thank you for reading_! Love ya!


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